


The Gift of Waiting

by CD (thecollective)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Epistolary, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-08 23:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10398354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/CD
Summary: Gift the gift of waiting. It’s something Zhenya sighs to him every time Sidney goes out to sea, a promise that they both continue to keep, regardless of distance.





	

**_“Gift the gift of waiting” -Russian proverb_ **

 

 

 

_Zhenya,_

_The ocean tosses and turns this evening and I cannot find the rest sorely needed to wake at dawn, so, I write. Nights on the sea are long and, despite the constant companionship of my crew, I remain lonely. Perhaps it is too forward of me to admit how much I truly ache for you, but I have never been good at quelling my emotions. You, more than anyone, know this, and I cannot find it in myself to be ashamed to admit my feelings to the man I love. It seems much too long since I have seen you, yet, when I close my eyes, I can feel the phantom press of your arms around me. Six months at sea, something I used to look forward to as a young fisherman, is now a lifetime apart from you. I cling to the hope that you are waiting for me as you swore you would, that you still whisper my name to the ocean knowing your words carry across the waves to me because, my love, I promise you that I feel them in the deepest corners of my heart._

_***_

“Sidney,” Zhenya whispers, mouth against the skin of Sidney’s neck. _“Sidnyusha, tay spish?”_ He asks before worrying with his teeth at a small bruise underneath Sidney’s earlobe. Sidney is well aware that Zhenya likes to leave his marks, small and tender. Sidney doesn’t mind, as long as they cannot be seen. It feels good, knowing that, hidden underneath itchy wool and stiff cottons, there is visual proof of Zhenya on his body, a token reminding Sidney of their time together.

“You awake?” Zhenya repeats, this time in English, his voice soft in the dim morning light. Next to the bed is a steaming cup of tea, which means Zhenya has been awake long enough to heat water. Sidney feels a pang of regret that he missed Zhenya slipping out of bed, and lets it go. They’re here, now.

“Mmmm.” Sidney groans as he raises his arms above his head and turns toward Zhenya. His body is pleasantly sore, the activities of the night before evident in the slow stretch of his limbs that Sidney savors with a tiny smile. “I am now,” he murmurs, turning and capturing Zhenya’s lips with his own. Zhenya tastes fresh, like mint and it leaves Sidney feeling heady, dizzy for more. They kiss, slow and leisurely, the sun moving across the ceiling, casting shadows in the corners, reminding Sidney that they have the entire day ahead of them. “Are you going to go to the workshop today?” Sidney asks after a long while, pressed against Zhenya’s body, every inch of bare skin touching underneath cotton sheets. “Summer is too short for you to work every day. Stay with me,” he adds, voice low. They are both hard, but Sidney is in no hurry to finish. If he could, he would stay here in Zhenya’s bed from sunrise to sunset, which is what Sidney silently proposes as he reaches his hand down between them and wraps his fingers around Zhenya’s hardening cock, swallowing the noises that Zhenya gasps against his mouth.

“Don’t want to go, Sid,” Zhenya murmurs. “Want to stay with you always.”

“I want to stay with you too, Zhenya,” Sidney admits softly, grip slowing but not stopping. The exchange is an old one, one that has lasted the entire off-season and a budding argument that Sidney doesn’t want to have today. He’d much rather catalogue the pleasure on his lover’s body, etch the images into his memory. “I’ll return soon though, I promise.” Zhenya doesn’t answer, but he meets Sidney’s eyes and there is something like hope burning in them that causes Sidney’s chest to ache. He swallows down the familiar guilt and fear and does not waver when he meets Zhenya’s eyes. He needs to see that Sidney means every word.

“You come back to me,” Zhenya whispers.

“Always.”

 

***

_Zhenya,_

_On nights like this, when my empty bed feels vast and as cold as the sea, I find myself wishing for your touch, your kiss. The taste of you lingers on my tongue, and in the darkness, I imagine your warm breath against my neck, your strong hands on my hips as they work their way across the planes of my body, slow and torturous. When I find myself growing stiff at the thought of you, I am shameless and wanton, writhing underneath thick wool blankets, bringing myself to pleasure, with the memories of our time together vivid images on the back of my eyelids, your name a low moan on my lips. Zhenya, I would traverse the sea in this very moment if I could, to hold you once again close to me. If not for my crew, those men who rely on me to lead them across these waters to seek livelihood, if not for the responsibilities that keep me from you and the desire to provide all the things we whisper to one another on the soft pillows of our warm bed, I would be by your side in an instant._

_***_

“Marry me.”

Sidney blinks once, twice and tilts his head at Zhenya. He’s going to remember this night, sitting in Zhenya’s kitchen, hot clam chowder and oven-fresh bread between them, Zhenya in that godawful gray cardigan that makes him look like someone's grandfather and yet, somehow, still sexy. Underneath the table, their socked feet tangle together, knees knocking and it makes Sidney smile into his cup before taking a swig of warm cider in order to gather his thoughts. He loves feeling close to Zhenya even in the mundane, everyday tasks they do together, on these visits between Sidney’s runs at sea. They’ve been at this for three seasons, now, and Sidney hasn’t wanted anyone else since he and Zhenya shared their first kiss outside of his workshop, before Zhenya’s home became his home too, before Sidney knew the intoxication of their shared love. There is nothing he wants more than to know that he belongs to Zhenya and that Zhenya belongs to him. Across from Sidney, Zhenya’s eyes are shining bright, but he is subdued, waiting for an answer, as if Sidney were going to say anything but…

“Oh! Yes!” Sidney says because he almost forgot to, then he laughs, that goofy, honking laugh he wishes he could control but never can seem to.

“Yeah?” Zhenya responds, a small smile forming on his lips. “You want?”

“Of course, I want, Zhenya,” Sidney answers. He stands and offers a hand out to Zhenya, who grabs it and stands to wrap his arms around Sid. He lets out a shaky breath, as if he might have actually thought Sidney was going to say _no_ and clings. “Zhenya, I love you more than anything.” Zhenya pulls back in order to wraps his long fingers around Sidney’s jaw, caressing the stubble there with his thumb. He leans in and kisses Sidney, chaste and soft, chapped lips rough against Sidney’s mouth. Smiling into the kiss, Zhenya nods and even though Sidney doesn’t want to stop, he needs to make sure that Zhenya understands. “I never dreamt someone like you would want a man like me.” Zhenya moves to interrupt, but Sid shakes his head in a silent request. God knows if he doesn’t get this out now, he might never have the courage to say it again. “I don’t mean that I thought I might never have settled down. I probably would have, eventually. But you…” He stops, looking up at Zhenya’s gentle scowl through dark lashes. He hates when Sidney berates himself, but this is not that. Sidney’s chest is tight as he imagines, for a brief moment, his life without the love, laughter and joy that Zhenya brings to Sidney’s everyday routine even when they are apart; the understanding and patience that Sidney’s never found anywhere with anyone else. The knowledge that he can be his full self, accomplish his ambitions and goals and still have _this,_ with Zhenya, for the rest of his life, that’s all Sidney’s ever dreamed.

“You are everything I have ever wanted, Zhenya. There is no one I would rather spend my life with. To me, you are perfect.” His voice cracks at the end but it doesn’t matter. Zhenya’s face transforms with joy and then he’s kissing Sidney, hard, tears streaking his cheeks. The cabin is quiet, except for the constant sound of the ocean outside of their window, crashing against the rocks in a familiar, soothing rhythm. Sidney knows he’s grinning like a fool, but he doesn’t care. This is the happiest day of his life. Reaching into his pocket, Zhenya pulls out two simple, gold bands. In the firelight, Sidney can just make out an engraving on his before Zhenya grasps Sidney’s right hand and brings it to rest at chest level between them. “I make one for you, one for me. Inside it say, _dar dara zhdet_.” Sidney lets out a laugh at the familiar proverb. _Gift the gift of waiting_. It’s something Zhenya sighs to him every time Sidney goes out to sea, a promise that they both continue to keep, regardless of distance. “Don’t wanna wait to know you’re mine, even when you’re far away.” He looks up. “It’s okay?”

Sidney sucks in a breath and gives a sharp nod. Zhenya places the second band in Sidney’s left hand and closes it underneath his own and Sidney feels the weight of the gold in his palm, heavy with possibility. This is their forever, right here, right now. The force of the oath takes Sidney's breath away. Whispering under his breath Russian endearments Sidney can’t quite catch, Zhenya slides the band over his fourth finger and lifts Sidney's hand to his lips for a kiss. Sidney grasps Zhenya’s ring and carefully places it onto his finger, remaining silent, eyes fluttering shut as he bites his lips and holds his breath. Zhenya nudges Sidney with his shoulder.

“You happy?”

“Yes,” Sidney sighs, flinging his arms around Zhenya’s neck and leaning in to bury his face in Zhenya’s chest. “So happy.”

***

_Zhenya,_

_Sometimes I feel the life of a sea captain is for a man with nothing to lose. I love my job and will always love the sea, but my heart is heavy without you,_ moya lyobov _. As I write this letter, my gaze cannot help but fall on the framed photograph on my tiny little writing desk. Here, in the middle of the ocean in the dead of night, I close my eyes and feel the sun warm on my skin, I can smell the breeze, which bounces off the cliffs and brings the scent of the sea right to our doorstep. I can taste the sweetness of the fresh strawberries from the garden, while the sound of your laughter echoes in the silence of my captain’s quarters. And you, Zhenya, with your head thrown back, mouth wide, eyes crinkled with happiness, always so joyful, so incredibly full of love and laughter. How is it that you are able to make me smile even when you are a thousand miles away? I long for even a portion of that peace now, as the crew and I venture further out into the ocean in search of our elusive prey._

_***_

Sidney has stopped in the seaport village a dozen times before, but he’s never been into this particular shop. He wants to pick up something for his sister, something pretty but also strong and resilient, like Taylor, to bring back to her on his next trip home. Browsing the wares, he stops at the colorful wooden _matryoshka_ , hand painted with the stern face of someone’s _babushka,_ with six other dolls inside, each one smaller than the other. Sidney smiles, amused, but keeps walking, keen eyes tracking the different products on the shelves of the tiny boutique. He tears his eyes away from the homemade wares to peak through the shelves, peering at the source of the low rumble of laughter coming from the front of the store. There is a man about Sidney’s age, tall and lean with dark hair and dark, hangdog eyes, who is conversing in Russian with a older woman. While Sidney’s Russian is barely passable, he is almost sure that the man is flirting with the woman, a _babushka_ herself, who giggles and blushes all over the young man before shoving a basket full of what look like dark red apples wrapped in vibrant, multi-colored cloth into his hands and taking her leave. Sidney can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. The man looks up and catches Sidney’s eye and smiles, wide and open and not the least bit embarrassed.

“You catch me and _gaspazha_ Nadezhda bartering, _da_?” he asks in English, grabbing an apple from the basket and taking a bite. Sidney raises an eyebrow and nods.

“You speak English?” Sidney blurts. It’s not common to find English speakers this north, and he doesn’t think he _looks_ Canadian, although he probably does at least look foreign enough to warrant a few double takes, especially in a small village such as this. He’s used to wandering these Russian seaport towns only half understanding what is said to him and hardly ever being understood.

“I see you last night,” the man replies, having the grace to look at least a little embarrassed when he realizes that telling a stranger he’s noticed him around town might be construed as odd. “I hear you speak English with friends at the pub. Sailor’s Rest,” he clarifies, looking uncomfortable and a moment away from slipping behind the counter to leave Sidney to his shopping. Sidney finds that he doesn’t want him to go. The stranger has kind eyes and Sidney doesn’t want to miss an opportunity to talk with this man, if only for a short while.

“They have good chili,” Sid offers with a smile, and the man nods, but doesn’t say anything else. “I’m looking for a gift,” Sidney adds, motioning at the shelves in front of him. “Do you work here?”

The man eyes him warily, but puts the basket down on the floor behind the counter and his apple down onto the table to come stand by Sidney’s side. “This is my family’s store. I work next door, at the blacksmith’s. Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin. Nice to meet.” He wipes his hands down the side of his pants and then sticks one out for Sidney to grab it with his own.

“Captain Sidney Patrick Crosby, at your service,” he says. Sidney almost asks how the man has come to know English, but he doesn’t want to seem forward, not when Evgeni still looks somewhat shy and nothing like the confident, flirty stranger he had been only moments before.

“You buy gift for your wife?”

Sidney shakes his head, huffing a soft laugh. “No, no, I’m not married. I’m looking for something for my sister, she’s younger than me, and back at home. In Canada,” Sidney adds. “She’s going to be eighteen soon and I want to bring her back something special the next time I dock in Cole Harbour.”

“Lucky sister, get gift from so far away. Very sweet,” Evgeni comments before turning away and leaving Sidney gaping at Evgeni’s back and also the fact that he was just called “sweet” by a six foot, dark-haired stranger. Shaking his head, Sidney follows Evgeni through the packed aisles to a dark corner of the store, where a shiny silver _samovar_ catches his eye. The large metal teapot is like nothing he’s ever seen, with a faucet near the bottom and a four-legged square-shaped foundation covered in ornate molding that twists and turns around the base. At home, Taylor likes to experiment with tea, growing her own herbs and leaves in order to create different types of remedies for everyday ailments. She’s somewhat of an expert at herbology and has assisted on midwifery since she was sixteen.

“It’s beautiful,” Sidney comments, reaching out to gently touch the patterns forged into the metal. “Such detail in the metal must be difficult to accomplish. The artist has a superb eye,” he adds, turning to Evgeni. He isn’t looking at Sidney and Sidney thinks he must have done something wrong until Evgeni says,

“Is me. I make.”

“You made this?” Sidney gasps, looking between the man and the _samovar_. It really is unique; the craftsmanship obvious and the quality so incredibly high, Sidney almost doesn’t want to know if he can actually afford it.  “Amazing! My sister, she brews herbs and, well, she would love this. It’s perfect,” Sidney finishes. Evgeni looks up at him, lifting his chin a bit as he straightens his shoulders.

“I only make two ever. Steel comes from Magnitogorsk. Papa bring it for me to forge on his last trip to Chelyabinsk. Take many hours, but I like,” Evgeni says. “Glad you like, too.”

“I do like it,” Sidney responds, offering Evgeni a soft smile. “You’re very talented.”

Evgeni scoffs and shakes his head. “Take too much time. Better use the metal and my hands for something more useful. Mama keep one I make, this is the other.” He pauses and looks at Sidney and then the pot thoughtfully. “I like this one best, I think.”

“Can I? I mean, I’m only a sailor, I don’t have a lot of, well... How much is it, if I might ask?” Sidney manages to inquire.

He's never been good at bartering, but Evgeni won't let him have the pot at full price, and so they go back and forth until Sidney feels he's paying enough for such a lovely piece and not cheating Evgeni out of his hard-earned pay. After a few moments of casual conversation, Evgeni wraps up the _samovar_ in soft cotton and places it in a thick burlap sack, handing it to Sidney, who gingerly slings the bag over his shoulder and turns to go. His vessel and crew are down at the docks waiting for him and yet it feels as if no time has passed at all. He has plans to stop for dinner once more at the Sailor’s Rest and then head back to his boat, and then out to sea at dawn. Evgeni is the first person that he’s met in months who speaks Sidney’s native language, and the blacksmith is warm and funny, reminding Sidney of home even though home is so very far away. He knows it may be fruitless, but something in him _yearns_. No harm in taking a chance.

“Would you like to get dinner?” Sid asks Evgeni. He turns dark, questioning eyes onto Sidney, who does his best not to shrink under the intensity of the gaze. “Tonight? With me?” Sidney continues. “it is refreshing to hear my native tongue,” he adds. “And I would like to thank you for helping me find a gift for my sister…” He trails off, not sure what else to say.

“Well,” Evgeni begins. “You _are_ a stranger here.”

“I apologize if I was to forward,” Sidney interrupts. “I should never have assumed…”

“Let me cook for you,” Evgeni rushes, to Sidney’s surprise and delight. They are standing close enough that Sidney can feel Evgeni’s warm breath on his skin and the air around them feels electric. Oh. _Oh_.

“You don't have to, Evgeni,” Sidney says, mostly to be polite.

Evgeni tips his head and offers a shy smile, eyes twinkling with mirth and something else. “Want to.”

_***_

_Zhenya,_

_I miss you. I miss the taste of your skin, the sound of your breathing beside me in bed at night. I miss your chowder and the way our little house always smells like fresh bread. I miss your unfailing ability to make me laugh, to make me shiver with delight. The sea is unchanging and time seems to stand still out here. Sometimes, I cannot be sure where my imagination ends and the real memories of you begin. The crew is restless. I am moody and cross and everyone knows why but no one dares say a word. Only Marc-Andre, my friend and First Mate, has deigned to comment on my “attitude”, but he is kind and knows that I am only a lonely, lovesick fool who needs but one remedy and that is you, Zhenya. I look at this ring that you gave me and miss my husband so much that my chest feels like a vice taking my breath away. I long for you, more than I have ever longed for the ocean._

 

_***_

There is a storm coming, but the bitter cold doesn’t deter Zhenya from kicking off his shoes, rolling up his jeans and wading into the icy ocean. The beach is deserted and Sidney is secretly glad. He ships out in three days, and the departure hangs over every minute of his time with Zhenya, just like the clouds above; dark and familiar.

“Zhenya!” Sidney calls out. The wind carries his voice in the opposite direction and his husband does not hear, oblivious as he stands staring out into the ocean, water past his ankles, the choppy waves rolling over and all around him. Sidney stands to his feet and kicks off his own shoes, digging his bare toes into the sand while a full body shiver runs down his spine. The sand is cold and the water is surely colder, but Sidney trudges to the shoreline, a few feet behind Zhenya and cups his hands to his mouth. “Zhenya!” This time, he does hear Sidney and turns, a grin spread across his face. Sidney feels his breath stutter because, _god,_  Zhenya is _so beautiful_ and it sometimes still catches him by surprise. He hopes it always will, in the many years they have ahead of them together. “Come in, _moy muzh_ ,” Sidney bellows over the roar or the ocean. “The water is cold!”

“Not so cold, Sidnyusha! Should come out,” Zhenya counters, tongue poking out the side of his mouth. Sidney laments that he finds Zhenya’s teasing gait attractive, but the flutter in his stomach says otherwise. When Sidney stands his ground, Zhenya begins to wade toward him, occasionally kicking water until Sidney kicks back once, with what he hopes is a warning gaze and not an indulgent one. When Zhenya is close enough, Sidney grabs him by the waist and reels him in, waves splashing up between them, dousing them both with water.

“Come to me, when I call, husband,” Sidney growls, faking a stern voice and nipping at Zhenya’s chin.

“Or what?” Zhenya counters, eyebrows raised, a smirk on his lips as he dips back to look at Sidney.

“Or else I will come to you,” Sidney answers because, yes, it is that simple. If Zhenya does not come to him, Sidney will go to Zhenya, because he cannot bear to be apart from his love for too long, not since the moment he first laid eyes on him. It doesn’t matter how many or how few miles of sea are between them, Sidney will always return to Zhenya, has promised to, for the rest of their lives.

***

_Zhenya,_

_We return to_ Karskoye More _soon. So soon, in fact, I may end up handing you this letter instead of sending it to post, which is a thought that brings a smile to my face, I must admit. We will be in your village within the week to trade our catch and have a much needed rest. I have convinced Marc-Andre and Kristopher to take_ The Halifax _for a haul without me next month, which means you will have me a bit longer than you initially foresaw. I hope you do not mind. Our course is set, and there is a palpable lift of spirit on the ship, which may be solely because we are setting our sights to dry land or perhaps because the ship’s captain has spent the past two weeks in good cheer at the thought of returning to his husband, at least according to my men. Either way, I am coming back to you, my love, and I can think of no better reason to wake up with a smile on my lips than the fact that I will soon have you in my arms. During my travels, I was able to visit home and give my family the good news about our marriage. My mother cried because she missed the ceremony, which I explained was not a true ceremony at all, but that did not seem to matter. You know how mothers can be. My sister loves the_ samovar. _She quickly_   _put it to good use, experimenting with_ zavarka _recipes using herbs from her garden out back. In fact, Taylor created a tea blend for me to bring home to you, it sits in my cabin, sealed for freshness, as I write to you now. The fragrance is a lovely mixture of strawberry, hibiscus and mint, as I told her your penchant for berries of all shapes and sizes. Father sends his congratulations on our wedlock and also his admiration for your metalwork skills. I may have extolled to him the talent you hold in your hands, although I did not reveal all the things you do well with those nimble fingers of yours. I am giddy with anticipation and the joy of sharing you with my family back home as you have shared yours with me. Father, Mother and Taylor have demanded that I bring you across the sea for a visit, as if the journey is right down the road and we can meet easily for Sunday afternoon tea. Still, if you are game, so am I._ The Halifax _could use a welder and we always have plenty of fish for chowder. It is a conversation we must have in person, but not until after I have had my fill of your arms and your kisses. I will be home soon, my love. I cannot wait to see you._

_Yours,_

_Sidney_

***

When Sidney finally sees Zhenya, he sits in his workshop, back to the door, bent over the forge, mask covering his eyes, banging away at a piece of fiery steel. His hair has grown, sweaty brown curls plastered to the back of his neck in the heat of the small room. Underneath a thin, cotton shirt, Sidney can make out muscles shifting and flexing with every movement and he feels the beat of his heart like a drum rattling in his chest. He's always a little nervous coming back after a run, worried that things between he and Zhenya might be different this time, even though they never are. Belatedly, Sidney thinks he should have washed himself. He probably smells like fish. When Sidney calls his husband’s name, Zhenya drops his tools and stands, lifting off the mask from his face and turning to Sidney with a grin already plastered there.

“I think maybe you turn into merman, swim off to hidden city, never return!” Zhenya says, eyes sparkling. Then he whispers, “Sidnyusha,” and gathers Sidney into his arms and there is no where Sidney would rather be. He gasps, a laugh pressed out of him as he wraps his arms around Zhenya.

"Not a merman," Sidney murmurs between kisses.

"Glad."

"You waited?"

"Of course."

“I promised I'd come back to you.”

“I know.” 

 

 

_**The End** _

 

* * *

 

_**Russian Translations:** _

_**tay spish:** are you sleeping? _

_**dar dara zhdet:** gift the gift of waiting _

_**moya lyobov:** my love _

_**matryoshka:** wooden nesting dolls _

_**babushka:** grandmother _

_**gaspazha:** madam _

_**da:** yes _

_**samovar:** a heated metal container traditionally used to heat and boil water _

_**moy muzh:** my husband _

_**zavarka:** concentrated black tea _

**Author's Note:**

> Russian translations are all my own, so if I messed something up, OOPS!
> 
> I have so many indulgences in this fic, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! Thanks to Pens Monthly for the great prompt and challenge.


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